


The wait

by TracingPatterns



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Gags, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Minor Violence, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-11-02 03:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20603219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingPatterns/pseuds/TracingPatterns
Summary: “Hey, kid. Not interrupting anything, am I?”Cesc shakes his head as a sort of reply, hides the way he cringes at being called kid and refrains from pointing out that he’s pretty fucking far from it, as far as he’s concerned.“Saw you standing here alone and figured you could use some company.”Cesc lets his gaze wander back over the crowded room, offers the other man half a smile and stops himself from rolling his eyes at something that sounds like one of the worst pick-up lines he’s heard in a long time.“It’s fine, John. I’m fine. Honestly.”





	1. Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> A story originally written back in 2006, when Cesc was 19 years old but already a relatively well-established first team player at Arsenal and John was wearing the armband at Chelsea. It started as a challenge from a friend who wanted a story where Cesc turned the table on Terry.
> 
> Little did we know, then, that the two would become teammates later. This obviously opened up the possibility of a second chapter - albeit set almost 8 years later. 
> 
> Now an additional 7 years have passed but this story remains a favourite of mine so I thought I'd share it.

Cesc makes his way across the crowded room, saying hello to people left, right, and centre despite not recognising even half of them. It doesn’t matter; he knows what’s expected of him at events like these. He’s just there to show himself off, anyway. Representing the team, they are, perfectly dressed in tailored suits with the Arsenal emblem stitched onto their chests. 

He’s lost his teammates somewhere along the way, doesn’t really mind, isn’t in the mood to talk to any of them anyway. At least the main event of the evening is over, the interviews are all done and all that’s left is the unnecessary mingling. Half the players of the Premiership are here tonight but Cesc doesn’t feel like talking to any of them. He keeps to himself, glass of orange juice in his hand as he simply watches from a corner.

When someone slides up next to him, he expects it to be someone from the team, he has the excuse ready on his tongue but when he half-turns and finds himself eye to eye with John Terry he’s just quiet, a faint frown appearing.

John, however, merely smiles politely.

“Hey, kid. Not interrupting anything, am I?”

Cesc shakes his head as a sort of reply, hides the way he cringes at being called kid and refrains from pointing out that he’s pretty fucking far from it, as far as he’s concerned.

“Saw you standing here alone and figured you could use some company.”

Cesc lets his gaze wander back over the crowded room, offers the other man half a smile and stops himself from rolling his eyes at something that sounds like one of the worst pick-up lines he’s heard in a long time.

“It’s fine, John. I’m fine. Honestly.”

He tries to sound determined without being rude. He’s not interested in company, not interested in talking, and especially not with John fucking Terry. He doesn’t even know why the Chelsea skipper has found him, has certainly never paid any attention to him before so Cesc doesn’t understand why he’d start now. But apparently he has some kind of reason for it because now John clinks his glass against Cesc’s.

“Cheers, yeah? What’re you drinking anyway? Vodka and orange juice?”

Cesc gives up then, shakes his head.

“Just orange juice. Look, not to be rude or anything but I’d rather just be alone.”

John doesn’t seem to care though as he simply ignores the end of the sentence, one eyebrow raised.

“Just orange juice, hm?” He takes a sip from his own drink. Whiskey, Cesc guesses. “Not up for something stronger?”

Cesc sighs, bordering on irritation now.

“No, we’re not supposed to.”

It’s true, Arsene had told him he preferred it if they didn’t drink tonight. They have an early training session tomorrow; he needs to be fit. He didn’t plan on being late today, just here to make an appearance really. Show some good will, eat some food and then be off.

John just grins, moves a little closer and Cesc takes a step back. It’s not until now he realises he’s cut off from the rest of the room, cornered by the captain of Chelsea and when he leans in close Cesc can smell the alcohol on his breath.

“Yeah? Tell me, Fabregas,” his name sounds wrong when John pronounce it with that English lilt to it. “D’you always do what you’re told?”

And Cesc actually rolls his eyes now, this is starting to get ridiculous. He catches a glance of Gilberto behind John, a raised eyebrow, a question but Cesc shakes his head. He can take care of himself, doesn’t need anyone to jump in and save him. He’ll never get the respect he deserves if he lets other people fight his battles.

John continues when Cesc doesn’t answer, totally oblivious to the silent exchange over his shoulder. He lets his free hand brush over Cesc’s upper arm, lingering just a little too long there.

“I bet you do,” he practically purrs. “Obedient, aren’t you?”

And Cesc almost fucking laughs at that because it’s so obvious, this, what John’s trying to do. He doesn’t though, hides the smile because it’s actually quite fun. Cesc can do coy, though, drops his eyes to the floor and feigns discomfort.

“I…I don’t know? Maybe?”

John laughs then, fingers curling around Cesc’s arm and it’s not exactly uncomfortable but not very nice either. He takes a step closer still and they’re too close now as John ducks his head to brush his lips against Cesc’s ear.

"What do you say about taking this somewhere private?" He muses, suggests as if they’re in some dodgy pub in one of London's back streets and not at a five-star hotel.

Cesc just about manages to disguise the laugh into a nervous stutter. He can’t believe he hasn’t seen it earlier, and really, it shouldn’t surprise him. He could just put Terry down as the type, doesn’t exactly take a genius to figure it out. He can do meek too, though, can Cesc. Fact is, he can do most things and he thinks John is about to figure that out tonight.

He shifts, half-heartedly straining against John’s hold of his arm.

“I don’t know…I’m not sure it’s a good idea…” he whispers, careful not to look John in the eyes.

John presses on though, closer still and Cesc feels his back being pressed against the wall.

“Come on,” John murmurs. “It’ll be worth it, I promise.”

He doesn’t wait for Cesc to reply, takes half a step away and knocks back the last of his drink in one go. The grip around Cesc’s upper arm is suddenly gone and instead he feels John’s arm across his shoulder, guiding him through the crowded room.

He allows himself to be led, quietly stumbling next to Terry until they’re out in the lobby again. John leaves him at the lift, tells him to stay put while he goes to get the key. He’s got a room here, booked it especially for tonight and Cesc has to bite his tongue not to say something stupid. So fucking obvious, he thinks, how full of himself John is. He was clearly expecting to pull tonight and he will just, Cesc hides a smirk, not quite how he thinks.

When John returns, key in one hand, Cesc goes all out for the nervous, wide-eyed boy look and fuck it if Terry doesn’t buy it completely. He fiddles nervously with his suit jacket, looking around himself as if searching for someone that could come and help him. John just laughs, but not unkind, and wraps an arm around him before guiding him into the lift.

They don’t speak as they ride all the way up. Penthouse suite, of course. Cesc just about stops himself from dryly pointing out that it’s nice to see that John spends his Chelsea millions on something sensible.

Instead he stands quiet, continuing to nervously fiddle with his clothes, a hand dragging nervously through his hair. When the doors open, he’s hurried into the hallway, waits for John to open the doors to the room. John makes short work with the swipe card and ushers him inside one of the poshest hotel rooms he’s ever seen. For a moment he forgets about the act and when he looks around the amazement is actually real.

John walks past him with a low chuckle, throwing his jacket on the bed and loosens the tie while making his way over to the mini fridge. He throws a glance over his shoulder as he crouches down to pull out a bottle of champagne.

“C’mon, don’t be shy. Make yourself comfortable. Feel like home, yeah?”

Cesc doesn’t reply, slips back into the role effortlessly as he slowly shrugs out of his jacket but remains standing where he is, holding on to it tightly. He fiddles with the fabric, watching John’s movement as he pours two glasses of champagne. He doesn’t let go of it until John comes back to him and takes it away, and even then, it’s reluctantly. Instead, he finds himself with a glass in his hand.

“Drink,” John coaxes. “You’ll need it.”

Cesc makes a split decision, decides that one glass can’t hurt because he hasn’t drunk anything else tonight and his head is still clear. He gulps down the liquid, purposefully choking a little on the bubbles and John just watches with a smile. When he’s finished John takes the glass away, placing both glasses on a small table and John’s champagne remains untouched.

Once again he finds himself with the Chelsea captain well and truly in his personal space, this time his hand sneaks up his neck to settle in his hair. Cesc gasps softly, looks as nervous as he can when John presses their bodies flush together. He squirms a little, giving the impression that he’s trying to get free and John smirks, ducks his head to push his lips against Cesc’s.

The Spaniard whimpers, struggles, his hands coming up to John’s chest in an attempt to push him away. It’s fruitless, he knows it, that’s part of the point after all. He can feel John’s cock push against his thigh and, fuck, if he’s half-hard already Cesc’s job here will be even easier than he first thought.

John is clearly set on making the most of the time here as he forces his tongue into Cesc’s mouth. He can feel the boy struggle against him, and he can’t stop the triumphant grin. He feels his cock kick already, hard just thinking about what he’ll do tonight. Fuck, but he’ll enjoy breaking this one. Can’t believe how fucking gullible he’s being, either.

He breaks the kiss with a sharp bite to the boy’s bottom lip and Cesc yelps at that, eyes wide when John looks down at him. He tries to pull away but there’s nowhere to go with John’s tight grip in his hair.

“Shh,” he hushes, softly almost. “Don’t fight it. That’ll only make it worse.”

Cesc stills, huge eyes blinking up at John and he knows that half the work is already done here. John’s drunk, on the powertrip and on alcohol and sees what he wants to see. Cesc has an idea though, not quite willing to give up this game yet. He gives John exactly what he wants, can even force tears into his eyes on pure will.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t hurt me…”

John’s finger that travel up his cheek is almost soft but the grip in his hair is everything but. The whimper he lets out when John forces his head back is only half-fake. The hand that isn’t fisted in his hair travels down his chest, in under his shirt. He struggles, mostly for show, speeding up his breathing to come across as even more scared.

It seems to be working, too, because John’s laughing now. Taunting him quietly, whispered words of filth as he slowly but surely undresses the boy in front of him. Cesc attempts to fight him off, or at least to pretend that’s what he wants, but it takes mere seconds before he naked.

When John releases him suddenly, shoves him backwards, he stumbles but remains standing. He can even blush on command, tries to cover himself when John looks at him. He’s not the least surprised when John snaps at him to stand the fuck straight, to show himself off. He sobs helplessly as he does as he’s told, gaze brushing past John’s now obvious erection and he doesn’t manage to stop the grin this time.

John doesn’t notice it though, completely focused on the task at hand as he looks at the lithe body in front of him. It’s almost like he doesn’t know where to start, what to do first. There are endless possibilities here. Cesc is sniffling quietly, obviously close to tears and John has to stop himself from laughing out loud. 

One thing that Cesc can’t control though is the way his cock twitches to life. He can’t help it, just seeing the effect his little act has on John is too good. John? He thinks it’s the humiliation that does it and this time he does laugh.

“Kinky little fucker, aren’t you?” He taunts. “Fuck me, but you’re gonna love tonight.”

Cesc drops his gaze, hides the smile.

John has no idea.

“Come here,” Terry continues. “Make yourself fucking useful. Undress me.”

There’s a shiver running through the boy as he steps closer. His hands tremble as he starts by removing the tie. John doesn’t move, waits patiently as Cesc deals with the buttons of his shirt. He fumbles slightly, purposefully, nervously glancing up at John to see if he’s doing the right thing.

He drops the shirt to the floor before dealing with his trousers; ever so eager to please he sinks down on his knees. Glances up at John as if to say _look, I’m doing what you tell me to, please don’t hurt me_. John pats him condescendingly on the head and motions for him to continue. Fabregas hurries to comply, removes shoes, socks and trousers. Hesitates for just a second before dealing with John’s underwear and he tries not to smirk as John’s erection springs free.

He whines softly when John’s hand fists in his hair again, whimpers when he’s pulled up on his feet. John leans in again, breath ghosting over Cesc’s neck as he mumbles.

“You’re a pretty one, aren’t you? Yeah…really fucking pretty”

And Cesc uses all the self-control he has to convert that laugh into a pathetic little mewl, shuddering helplessly as John attacks his mouth again. He struggles against the kiss, tasting whiskey on John’s tongue and he gasps for breath when he’s finally pushed away.

He stumbles when he’s shoved towards the bed. He’s not alone though, John stumbles as well and Cesc realises that the other man is probably even drunker than he first thought. It’s good, it helps, will make it all so much easier. He scrambles up on the bed, pressing himself against the headboard, fingers searching uselessly after something to hide behind. John pulls the cover away though, the duvet as well, smirking confidently as he throws them on the floor. Cesc is going all out now. Whimpering, sobbing, pleading in broken English with John to leave him alone, to let him go, not to hurt him. Had John been a little bit more with it, a little less drunk, he’d notice the shine in Cesc’s eyes. The way the boy looks at him. He doesn’t, though, not at all. 

Instead he crouches down, reaching for the tie he’d been wearing just moments before and when he stands back up there’s a slightly unnerving smile on his lips. Cesc’s not phased though, carries on as he’s planned, and he even attempts to escape. Throws himself away from John only to have the defender stop him, pull him back in and wrestle him down on the bed. Cesc squirms, taking the chance to rub his erection up against John’s thigh and Terry doesn’t even notice. Doesn’t even react because all he sees is a scared boy fighting for his life. He straddles him, presses him harder into the bed and stretches for the tie, dangling it in front of Cesc’s eyes, threatening.

“C’mon, don’t fight it. It’ll be so much more painful if you do. Be a good boy and put your arms over your head.”

John expects him to cry, to scream, to fight. Expects him to do just about anything except what happens and that’s why he’s caught so completely off guard. When Cesc just looks at him, one eyebrow raised, he’s not quite sure how to handle it.

“C’mon,” he repeats, frowning. “Don’t make me hurt you…”

Cesc? He just laughs. Proper fucking laugh and that makes John confused more than anything. Scowl deepening and he’s momentarily lost for words. Cesc sees his chance though, knows that this is it and if he fails, he might be in for a night that he hadn’t quite planned on.

But John is not prepared, not even close to it, and his reflexes are all off after too much alcohol and Cesc really is much stronger than he looks. Not the same boy that showed up at Arsenal but a young man now, as capable as anyone to fight back. And fight he does, twisting himself away from under John. Teeth catching at his shoulder, nails raking over skin before fisting in his hair, using that simple grip to turn everything around. Even though John struggles and fights back, of course he does, Cesc has the advantage of being smaller, faster, more easily manoeuvred and above all, completely sober. 

It takes a while and he earns himself a few good scratches but somehow he does manage, snatching the tie from John’s grip and before Terry even has a chance to react it’s him tied to the bed, his arms stretched uncomfortably over his head and his wrists caught in a silk bond. John spits, snarls, kicks out and actually manages to catch Cesc’s thigh, sending him off the bed.

The boy bounces back up, eyes black but he really looks more irritated than anything else.

“Did you have to do that for?” He snarls, the wide-eyed boy from just minutes before long gone. “That fucking hurt!”

John just blinks, wonders how much he’s had to drink tonight because this isn’t happening. It’s not fucking happening. He yanks his arms down, testing the knots, but it seems like Cesc knows what he’s doing because the knots don’t budge. He looks over at Cesc, too surprised and confused to even sound angry.

“What the fuck?”

Cesc rubs at the back of his thigh, stretching his leg but clearly comes to the conclusion that he’s all right because he looks back over at John, one eyebrow raised.

“What?” He says, almost managing to sound innocent. “Not as fun when the toys kick back, is it?”

John growls, then, the seriousness of the situation suddenly painfully clear to him and he yanks violently, shakes the whole bed but the knots don’t budge. Cesc frowns, almost caring.

“You’d want to be careful with that. Don’t you know that the knots can cut off circulation in your arms? You don’t want that; it hurts like fuck.”

John closes his eyes for a moment, as if everything will just change and go back to normal the next time he opens them. It doesn’t. When he looks back up he’s still tied to the bed with Cesc fucking Fabregas looking at him almost curiously.

“Are you trying to tell yourself it’s not happening?” He enquires almost politely. “They usually do that.” He pauses before adding thoughtfully. “Don’t think it usually helps though.”

“You little piece of shite,” John breathes, voice quivering from rage. “I’ll fucking skin you for this!”

Cesc just laughs, shrugging.

“Course you will. If you weren’t tied up, that is. Which you are. So, I think I can consider that being an empty threat for now, if you don’t mind.”

John forces himself to take a couple of deep breathes. Tries to clear his head but except from this is not happening he can’t seem to form any coherent thoughts. Cesc studies him, still with that faint smile on his lips.

“Difficult to take in, huh?” He sounds pleased. “Didn’t think I had it in me? It’s okay, you’re not the first one. Everyone can make mistakes, you know?”

He takes a step closer to the bed, places one knee on the edge as if to crawl up but has barely made the move before John kicks out.

“Come fucking closer and I swear you’ll regret it,” he growls.

Cesc sighs, shakes his head.

“Y’know, really, I don’t think you’re in a position to threaten me. And if you want to kick me so badly, I might have to tie your legs down as well. I would. I really would.”

And it seems like he’s telling the truth because he’s reaching for the duvet, nimble finger easily releasing the duvet cover and tearing it in two before he turns back. John kicks, struggles, uses all the strength he can muster but he’s in a really fucking difficult position and even though it takes time Cesc manages to tie both his legs down. Uncomfortably tight.

“The best thing,” Cesc says, almost conversational, “with letting people tie you down and fuck you up is that you can learn how to do it properly, don’t you think?”

John doesn’t answer, just glares darkly as Cesc settles on the bed between his spread legs. The Spaniard lets his gaze linger on John's cock for a moment and it doesn't escape either of them that Terry is hard, his erection resting hot and heavy against his hip. Cesc's gaze flickers up to John's face with a smirk, one eyebrow raised, and Terry can feel himself blush. John pulls at the bonds, snarling something unintelligible and Fabregas has a feeling it wasn’t very nice. Cesc tilts his head to the side, watching him with something close to compassion.

“It’s not easy, hm? You brought me here, thought you’d get an easy fuck from someone you could break. It’s like a powertrip, yeah? Another time I might’ve let you. Just…this is so much more fun for me.”

Cesc smiles to himself, fingers absently trailing up John’s thighs before closing around the base of his cock. John’s legs jerk but he’s going nowhere. Cesc strokes him softly, not really intent on bringing him off just yet. John closes his eyes, tries to distance himself from this because he just can’t get his head around the fact that he’s so completely played. That he’s got absolutely nothing against this little prick who’s barely fucking legal.

“This really is difficult for you, isn’t it?” Cesc sounds more fascinated than anything. “Yeah, it’s not strange. I mean, what would your team say if they could see their captain now, eh?”

John doesn’t answer. Chokes, though, when Cesc ducks his head and takes him into his mouth. All soft, warm, wet and tongue as he sucks on John’s cock and Terry can’t fucking believe how far he takes him, how deep. Swears, viciously, when the boy is pulling away.

“Oh, come on,” Cesc actually sounds amused. “You can’t think it’s that easy? Would you have let me come without begging for it? I doubt that. C’mon, ask nicely.”

John spits out a _fuck you_ but Cesc just cocks an eyebrow.

“It’s not difficult. Like this…”

He takes a deep breath before curling into himself, so very easily slipping back into the role of the victim and when he looks up at John, he does look terrified. Aroused though, as he curls his fingers around his own cock, stroking himself, blushing, and when he speaks it sounds so sincere.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please, John…please let me…let me come, please. I…I need it. Please, I’d…I’d do anything…for you, John, please…please…”

John’s eyes darken and neither of them misses the way his cock kicks. Cesc laughs, lets go of his own erection again and shuffles closer to John.

“See, if I can do it you can do it. C’mon. Ask nicely.”

His fingers hover there, just short of touching. John glares at him, jaw firmly set, and he doesn’t look like he’s about to start begging anytime soon. Cesc just shrugs, gets up from the bed.

“That’s alright. Thought you wanted to come. It’s okay if you don’t though, I’ll just leave you like this.”

John doesn’t move. Surely he’s not serious. He can’t be serious. He has to let him up sooner or later and John swears, the second he does he’ll fucking strangle the little bastard. Cesc, however, gets dressed. Puts his boxers back on, his trousers, his shirt, and he even reaches for his jacket.

That’s when John gives in, just a little, snarls.

“You wouldn’t fucking dare.”

Cesc just smiles, as angelic as ever.

“Oh, but do _you_ dare to chance it?”

John jerks in his bonds again, his cock lies neglected against his stomach and he hisses.

“Get back here you little fuck or I swear…”

It’s meant to be dangerous, a threat. Somehow, it comes out rather pathetic. Cesc feigns confusion.

“I thought you told me not to come close? I’m just…I’m just trying to please you, John…”

John just swears at the manipulative little bastard but when Cesc starts moving towards the door he realises he doesn’t have a choice.

“Please.”

Choked, a snarl, a hiss and nothing more but Cesc has a feeling it’s the best he’ll get so he settles for it. Beaming when he turns to face the Chelsea captain again. 

“Okay.”

And that’s it, he settles between John’s legs again and he doesn’t even tease. Nothing, as he simply takes John into his mouth as far as he can. He sucks, greedily, using just enough tongue and teeth and John has to admit that at least he knows what he’s doing. He closes his eyes, scrunches them shut and he could almost pretend that it was someone else.

It’s not that he doesn’t like being tied down. It’s not even that he hates to beg. It’s just the fact that it’s a fucking kid that’s doing this to him that’s really getting to him. That’s the worst thing. But right now, kid or not, Cesc is doing things with his mouth that John barely thought was possible and he realises that there’s no chance he can go through this without making a sound.

He moans, softly, way too needy but he just can’t help it. The muscles in his legs are quivering already and he gasps, hips jerking out of his control. He can feel Cesc smiling around him, chuckling almost, and he can feel his face flush from embarrassment. John wonders, fleetingly, if he’ll ever be able to look Fabregas in the eye after this. He groans, desperately, when he realises he’s about to come.

He doesn’t warn Cesc though, figures the little fucker can choke on it without him caring but Cesc doesn’t seem surprised. Doesn’t pull away, just continues what he’s doing, catching every last drop of John’s cum before he pulls away. He catches John’s gaze and swallows, slowly, licking his lip and fuck if John would ever admit it but it’s quite a sight.

The smile, though, that curls Cesc’s lips after that is everything but reassuring.

He drags himself off the bed, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He reaches down for his jacket, puts it on, before going for his tie. John just stares.

“Let me up. You’ve had your fucking fun, just let me up.”

Cesc shakes his head, looks at John as if he was out of his mind.

“Do you really think I’ll let you go while I’m still in the room? Please. You’ve said it yourself; you’ll fucking skin me.”

Instead he makes his way around the bed, fingers stroking his own tie. Red and white stripes. Arsenal. He grins, to himself, as he slides up John’s body. Making the other man’s skin prickle when the soft fabric of his suit catches of his naked body. His fingers trail up John’s chest, flashes him a dangerous smile before he pinches a nipple, fucking twisting, and John can’t help it.

Back arching off the bed and he fucking yelps at that. Cesc reacts quick as a snake, forcing the silk tie in between John’s parted lips before tying it around his head. He moves back, off the bed, before admiring his handiwork. John spits, snarls, twists like crazy in the bonds but whatever he says is lost. His voice muffled by the improvised gag.

Cesc makes his way back to the end of the bed, smiling pleasantly.

“Don’t worry. You won’t rot in here. Someone will come and let you up,” he crouches down, rummages around at John’s clothes before standing up again, clutching Terry’s phone in his hands. He frowns, mock contemplating. “Let’s see…who should we call?”

For the first time, John goes completely still. For the first time, he actually looks scared. His eyes are almost as big as Cesc’s, wide and terrified as he stares at the boy holding his mobile. Fuck…but he wouldn’t?

Oh, but he would.

The smile on Cesc’s lips is perfectly angelic as he starts flicking through the phonebook. He looks up, one eyebrow raised.

“Frank?”

John closes his eyes, cheeks burning. No. Fucking no. If Cesc hadn’t gagged him he would be pleading now. Is, in fact, but it’s useless because no-one can understand him anyway. Cesc smiles, so fucking innocent, and presses call.

“Frank?” He says, when someone seems to have picked up. “Yeah, this is Cesc…Fabregas, sí? You’re not busy? Are you still at the party? Okay, good. Look, John wants to show you something but he’s…how do they say…a little tied up at the moment? Busy. Yes.” 

The boy falls silent, listens, apparently, before he continues.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a long story but I’m sure John’ll explain it to you when you come. He’s in the penthouse, asked me to tell you.” He’s silent again, laughs, at something that Frank says. “Yeah, exactly. There’s a key at the front desk for you. Okay. Oh, and Frank?” He waits, makes sure to catch John’s gaze and he really looks devious when he smiles. “He says there’s no rush. Take your time.”

He flicks the phone shut before bursting out laughing, shakes his head as if he almost can’t believe it. Looks at John as if he expects him to find it equally funny. Needless to say, he doesn’t.

Cesc grins.

“I’m sorry but I won’t stick around. Think I need to be as far away from here as possible when he shows up, don’t you think?”

He straightens his clothes, drags a hand through his hair and collects the swipe card from John’s trousers. Smiles, ever so cheerful.

“I’ll leave this at the front desk for Frank to collect. Thoughtful of me, hm? I think so.”

John doesn’t answer, can’t, can do anything but stare absolutely helplessly when Cesc comes closer to him. The Spaniard adjusts the red and white tie between his lips, as if he doesn’t want to leave unless everything is absolutely perfect. He smiles, presses a kiss to John’s forehead before straightening back up.

He hurries, then, waves a goodbye at John before opening the door and slipping out, closing it behind him. John can hear the door click into place, can hear it lock. He closes his eyes, desperate.

_Fucking, fucking hell._


	2. Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John struggles not to grin like the Cheshire cat when the news come through. He sends the text to Frank almost immediately.
> 
> _It’s a done deal. He’s coming here._
> 
> It takes barely a minute before the reply comes through.
> 
> _Let me know if you need any help._
> 
> John smiles to himself. Frank, despite no longer under contract with the team, would always be his second in command.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2: Cesc signs for Chelsea and meets John Terry again.
> 
> This story started in 2006, when Cesc was 19 years old but already a relatively well-established first team player at Arsenal and John was wearing the armband at Chelsea. It started as a challenge from a friend who wanted a story where Cesc turned the table on Terry.
> 
> Little did we know, then, that the two would become teammates later. This obviously opened up the possibility of a second chapter - albeit set almost 8 years later.
> 
> Now an additional 7 years have passed but this story remains a favourite of mine so I thought I'd share it.

It has been almost eight years. 

Eight years since that night which John has spent a long time trying to forget (except, maybe, he thought about it a bit more often that he'd like to admit). 

Eight years since Frank came up to the hotel room to find him tied to the bed with the red and white Arsenal tie between his lips.

Eight years that he’s been waiting to get his revenge (thinking about it, fantasising about it, wanting it).

When Cesc moved to Barcelona he thought he’d missed the chance for good. The Spaniard had been cunning enough to keep out of his way after that night, always surrounding himself with teammates or cameras.

It had been impossible to get to him, and when Fabregas upped and left England John had written it off. He hadn’t forgotten - he never would - but he had come to accept the fact that he’d missed his chance to get back at him.

Somewhere he still hoped that he could get that chance in connection with a Champions League game, or perhaps even sometime with the national team. But that was all.

This? This is too good to be true.

John struggles not to grin like the Cheshire Cat when the news come through. He sends the text to Frank immediately.

_It’s a done deal. He’s coming here._

It takes barely a minute before the reply comes through.

_Let me know if you need any help._

John smiles to himself. Frank, despite no longer under contract with the team, would always be his second in command. But this was something he needed to do on his own.

***

It’s the annual start-of-the-season-party and Cesc is nervous. He’s never really done this initiation routine properly before. 

At Arsenal he was so young. All he remembers is that him and Philippe had performed a very shaky version of Ricky Martin’s _Jaleo_ which had been topping the charts in Spain that summer.

At Barcelona it never felt like a real initiation. He knew the club and his teammates so well anyway, he had barely been nervous.

This, however, was completely different.

Not only was it a completely new club, but many of the players that had been at Chelsea back when he played against them were gone.

Many. But not all of them.

He’d effectively stayed away from Terry since that night almost eight years ago. He’d always made sure he had plenty of teammates to back him up, cameras not too far away, and bar a couple of too rough tackles he’d been able to keep away.

But now, with pre-season getting started and him having to spend more and more time with his new teammates he’s starting to realise that he won’t be able to keep out of the way from his new captain much longer.

He’s standing in a corner, pondering how long he would have to stay before he could make up an excuse and disappear when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns around, startled, finding himself eye to eye with Terry.

”You alright, mate?” 

Cesc smiles quickly, straightening up to remind himself, as much as Terry, that he’s not the same kid that left Arsenal all those years ago. He forces a smile, hiding his nerves.

”Yes, I’m. Fine. Just fine.”

He pauses, takes a deep breath before he plunges on.

”Look, John, I just wanted to say—”

But John interrupts him, waves his hand dismissively.

”Forget about it. It’s what? Fucking eight years ago now? Water under the bridge, mate.”

Cesc raises an eyebrow, hesitant.

”Really?”

But John just grins wider, pats him harder on the back, almost making Cesc choke on his drink.

”Really! C’mon, it was a long time ago. We’re teammates now, yeah? All good.”

Cesc smiles back a little hesitantly, relaxing.

”Well, for what it’s worth - I’m sorry anyway.”

Terry shrugs, grins.

”Don’t worry about it, mate. C’mon, let me get you a drink.”

***

The rest of the evening goes rather quickly. The drinks keep coming and somehow his glass is never really empty.

He tries to take it easy, never been big on drinking, but things seem to be done slightly differently here. He doesn’t want to be rude, either, when the rest of the lads keep bringing him new beers, so he drinks as quickly as he has to in order to keep up.

After a while there’s only a few of them left. Someone, Cesc isn’t sure who, suggests they move the party upstairs - to one of their rooms. Cesc figures it’s a good a time as any to excuse himself and he gets ready to do so as he follows the small group out of the hotel restaurant where they’ve been spending the evening. 

He doesn’t have time to actually say anything though before he feels a hand at his elbow, guiding him towards the lift.

”Not leaving, are you?” 

John’s voice is close to his ear, his breath ghosting over his skin and Cesc swallows audibly.

”Actually…I was just thinking…time for bed, y’know?”

John merely laughs, pushing the Spaniard ahead of him as he manoeuvres them both into an empty lift, different from the one the others are taking, and hits the button for their floor.

”No, I don’t think so, Cesc. C’mon, we’re finally getting the real party started. You don’t wanna duck out now, do you?”

Cesc opens his mouth to decline but something stops him, perhaps the way that Terry still has his elbow in a tight grip. Instead he just laughs, a little nervously.

”Yeah? Look, it’s nice and all, but I’m really quite tired…”

John doesn’t reply, just pushes Cesc ahead of him into the corridor as the doors open. 

”Too tired to have a drink with your new captain? Y’know, there are guys at this club that’d kill for the chance. I just think…we should get to know each other a little better.”

If Cesc wasn’t starting to get worried he’d almost laugh. He can’t believe how stupid he’s been. He should have figured out that Terry wasn’t the type to let something like what happened just go.

”What about the others?” He asks as he lets Terry guide him down the corridor.

”I’m sure they can manage without us,” John drawls, keeping the slightly too-hard grip on Cesc’s arm as he uses the swipe card to unlock the door to his room.

”No roommate?” Cesc asks, to win time. John shakes his head with a slow smile.

”Captain’s privilege.”

He pushes the Spaniard inside, hard enough to make him stumble a little, closing the door and locking it with the safety chain behind him. 

Cesc turns around to face the Englishman as soon as he’s regained his balance. He straightens up, looking him over carefully, shaking his head slightly to clear it.

”So,” he says, slowly. ”I suppose it’s not really ’water under the bridge’ then?”

John laughs, loudly, and it seems almost genuine. 

”Not really,” he says, easily. ”You really thought so? In that case I think I misjudged you.”

Cesc gives half a smile, shrugging, eyes scanning the room quickly as if looking for a way out.

”Hoped so, perhaps,” he admits.

”There’s no way out,” John offers, calmly. ”Unless you get past me, and that won’t happen tonight.”

Cesc raises a brow, drawing himself up to his full height, forcing himself to meet John’s gaze.

”No offense, but you couldn’t take me down when I was a 19 year old kid, what makes you think you could do it now?”

John smiles, unpleasantly.

”Oh, but tonight is very, very different Cesc. Sure, I’ll admit it - last time you took me by surprise. I really didn’t think you had it in you. I’ll give you that.”

John takes a step forward and almost instantly, Cesc takes one back, keeping the distance between them. John smiles, slowly, as he continues.

”This time it’s different.”

Cesc feels a nervous flutter somewhere in his chest but he does his best not to show it, really wishing he hadn’t had those last few drinks now.

”So…what is your plan? You going to rough me up a bit? Show me who’s the boss?”

John simply smiles as he makes his way further into the room, heading for the mini bar now.

“A drink?” He asks, purposefully not answering the question.

Cesc merely shakes his head, waiting. He’s had too much to drink already. He watches, quietly, as John pours himself a drink which he knocks back quickly before turning around again, facing the Spaniard. Cesc meets his gaze, one eyebrow raised. The silence stretches, John’s gaze searching over the Spaniard’s face for a moment before the corner of his mouth quirk upwards.

“You’re quieter than I remember,” he observes. “Wouldn’t shut up the last time.”

Cesc doesn’t reply straight away, gaze narrowing as he tries to read John’s body language, but the defender looks completely relaxed and at ease. Even a little bit amused. 

”You still talk as much as I remember, though,” Cesc says, feigning boredom. ”And from what I’ve seen so far, and from what I remember, you’re a whole lot of talk but not a lot of action.”

John doesn’t seem phased; he simply smiles a little wider as he takes another step forward. Cesc acts almost on instinct and he moves back again to keep their distance.

”Did you tell anyone about the last time?” John asks, almost softly.

Cesc hesitates a brief second before he shakes his head but John simply laughs.

”You’re a shit liar, Fabregas. Tell me the truth.”

Cesc frowns, then shrugs as if to say that he doesn’t care either way.

”A few,” he pauses, then he flashes a quick smirk as he straightens up again, lifting his jaw stubbornly. ”It was too good not to.”

John gives him a look that is almost approving.

”Now, that’s more like it. Now I recognise you.”

Cesc shrugs, exhaling.

”What exactly do you want from me? I apologised.”

John smiles, moving towards Cesc again and the Spaniard keeps backing until he feels his legs hit the edge of the bed. He doesn’t sit down, remains standing even as John closes in on him and he straightens up to make himself as tall as possible.

He’s still not tall enough though, Terry still has almost four inches on him and - Cesc realises - quite a few pounds. 

John just grins wolfishly at him.

”It’s too little, too late.”

Cesc hates how he has to tilt his head back in order to meet John’s gaze. It makes him feel small. Young. He exhales softly, looking away, seemingly relaxing before he moves quickly. He dives for the door, shouldering into the Englishman to knock him off balance as he fumbles with the security chain on the door.

He swears quietly, realising the second he fails to open the door on his first try that he won’t succeed. Still, the force with which John slams him up against the door takes him by surprise and knocks his breath away. It shouldn’t be surprising, he’s been on the receiving end of enough of John Terry’s patented tackles to know he’s not joking around, but it’s instinct more than anything else that has him pushing back in an attempt to find enough room to suck in a breath. 

John’s hands are at Cesc’s hips and he pushes the midfielder flush against the door, pressing his crotch against the Spaniard’s back as he grinds lightly, mouth ghosting against the back of his neck and Cesc can feel the smirk rather than hearing it.

“Didn’t think that would really work, did you?”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Cesc gasps out, still a little winded, and he bites back around a groan as Terry uses the grip to turn him around.

The door handle presses into his back but he doesn’t even mind all that much, not offering much of a protest as John’s knee nudges him to spread his legs. It's not the first time Cesc has found himself pinned down by a bigger man and, despite how it ended between him and John the last time, this is usually how he likes it. John catches Cesc’s wrists in one hand, pinning them over his head, against the door, while the other one keeps a firm hold of the Spaniard’s hip. When Terry pushes his thigh higher, against his groin, Cesc can’t stop his eyelids from fluttering close. He feels Terry’s chuckle ghost against his cheek.

“Yeah, that’s better.”

Cesc opens his mouth to reply but whatever he was about to say dies on his lips as Terry starts to move his thigh. John keeps his eyes on Cesc’s face, watching intently as he ups the pressure slightly. Cesc purses his lips together, unwilling to give Terry the reaction he’s so clearly after, but he can’t stop his body from reacting and thinking anything at all becomes increasingly more difficult as his blood seems to leave his head to rush to a region further south. Terry gives a low growl, pressing closer against him and the pressure against Cesc’s cock is bordering on painful. John twists the grip he’s got of Cesc’s wrists, nails digging into skin and that is what finally makes the midfielder shudder and groan.

John gives a triumphant grin at that, easing up a little bit as he looks down at Cesc. The Spaniard forces his breathing to remain even, doing what he can to appear calm even though the voice in his head telling him not to give Terry what he wants is being increasingly drowned out by another voice, telling him to just _go with it, go with it, go with it_ drumming at the same pace as his pulse.

The grip around Cesc’s wrists remains steely even as Terry moves his thigh away. Cesc can’t quite stop the way his hips stutter forward in an attempt to keep the friction and the soft laugh that Terry lets out at that makes him flush. Cesc groans in frustration when he realises the friction is gone, his head rolling back against the door. 

“You want more of that? You know you can have it. All you have to do is ask,” John purrs teasingly, the hand at Cesc’s hip disappearing and he uses it to loosen the tie around his neck.

Cesc groans, shifting restlessly against the door but when he looks up into John’s eyes his expression is stubborn.

“Fuck you,” he grits through his teeth, earning him a light laugh in return.

“Oh no,” John grins. “But if you’re really lucky it will be the other way around.”

Something clicks into place for Cesc then and he jerks forward, wrenching his arms to get free from John’s grip. But even though he’s sobered up a bit the alcohol is still affecting him and his limbs aren't quite cooperating the way that they usually do, Terry doesn’t even have to work very hard to get him under control again. It doesn’t take long before he finds himself slammed up against the door once more, face first again, his crotch pressed painfully hard against the smooth surface and his arms twisted up behind his back. Further this time, and Terry doesn’t stop until Cesc whimpers in pain.

“Fuck, _fuck_, stop okay,” he gasps, his shoulders straining.

He can feel Terry against his back, that massive body pressed flushed against him, keeping him trapped and fuck if that feeling doesn’t go straight to his cock which is now straining inside his trousers. He can feel John’s hips grinding into him, can feel the defender’s erection poking against his back and he can’t stop the moan that fights its way up his throat. John chuckles lowly and Cesc can feel him shift the grip on his arms, he’s doing something but Cesc can’t figure out what and as long as Terry keeps grinding against him like that he doesn’t even care very much.

He lets his eyes flutter close, the door cool against his flushed cheek, thoughts jumbled in his head and he can't seem to straighten them out - not sure if the alcohol or his arousal is to blame. However, he’s quickly brought back to the here and now when he feels John’s tie twist around his wrists, tying them together roughly behind his back. The knots dig into his wrists and Cesc wouldn’t be surprised if there are marks there the next morning, but somehow he can’t seem to care too much about that right now. 

John grabs Cesc’s bound wrists, yanking him backwards, away from the door and the Spaniard stumbles. It takes him a moment to find his balance when Terry lets him go but he’s grateful he doesn’t fall, straightening up as soon as he can, facing John now. John is eyeing him as if he’s trying to decide where to start and Cesc has to admit that thought is pretty fucking exciting. Cesc smiles slowly, it’s not the first time he’s been in a position like this after all. Perhaps not with Terry before, but in the end, it’s all the same anyway, isn’t it?

Cesc bows his head, glancing up at John through his lashes, teeth catching at his bottom lip. He knows he looks good like this, arms tied around his back which makes his shoulders tense, his cheeks flushed and eyes dark from arousal. He exhales, softly.

“What are you going to do to me?” He asks, voice soft and there’s almost a tremble at the end of it but John simply laughs.

“You think I’m buying that? No, not this time.”

Cesc can’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth even though he quickly turns it into a pout instead. He tilts his head slightly, shrugging as if to say _worth a shot_ as he studies John closely. Terry takes a step closer, dropping his voice a little.

“Cut the act. I’ll make you beg and plead and cry tonight, Fabregas, but it’s going to be real. No act. No pretend. And trust me, I can tell if you’re faking it.”

Cesc doesn’t move, just watches John quietly as if trying to decide if he believes him or not. He raises a brow, shrugging despite the awkward strain in his shoulders.

“Do your best,” he smirks, chin high.

John leers.

“Oh, I will.”

Cesc is watching John closely but he’s still taken by surprise when the Englishman moves with more speed and grace that Cesc would give him credit for. He feels a hand curl into his hair, fingers twisting painfully and pushing him down, a foot at the back of his knees forcing him down into a kneeling position. He grunts a little, teeth gritted to prevent himself from crying out even as his knees hit the hard floor. John tugs his head back, movements rough as he runs the pad of his thumb against Cesc’s bottom lip.

Cesc smiles slowly, lips parting slightly, and he pushes his tongue against John’s thumb, lips closing around the digit. He knows he looks good like this, on his knees, and he watches John’s gaze darken slightly. He waits just a moment longer before flashing John a grin, biting down on Terry’s thumb. The Englishman growls, pulling his hand back quickly, reactions quick and sharp as he hits the Spaniard across the face. Cesc probably would’ve fallen over with the force of it if it hadn’t been for the grip that John has on his hair. The Spaniard groans, ears ringing, and he can taste blood from where he bit down on the inside of his cheek. 

“Fuck,” he curses, unsure if it’s the blow or the burn in his scalp that hurts the most. He can feel John’s fingers at his jaw, gripping him tightly, forcing his head up so that the midfielder meets his gaze.

“Pretty fucking stupid, Cesc,” he says, almost softly.

He pushes Cesc down on his back, not caring that his arms are crushed between his body and the floor and Cesc is too proud to complain anyway. He squirms, twists, bucking his hips to throw Terry off but of course it doesn’t work. They wrestle for a moment, as much as Cesc can anyway, but it doesn’t take long before the Spaniard cries out in pain, John’s knees digging into his thighs as the defender settles on top of him. 

John shifts, making himself heavy on top of Cesc, effectively preventing the midfielder from moving. Cesc realises he’s not going anywhere and lets his body relax back against the floor, gazing up at John quietly. The Englishman grins a little, rocking slightly on top of Cesc and it doesn’t escape either of them that Cesc is still hard inside in his trousers. 

“Enjoying yourself?” John drawls, slowly, grinding their hips together in a way that momentarily makes Cesc see stars and he can’t quite find his voice. 

Cesc merely bucks his hips as a form of reply, moaning lowly. John grins, running a hand down Cesc’s chest slowly, unbuttoning his shirt with swift fingers. Cesc stills as his shirt is pushed open, down over his shoulders but his bound wrists and awkward position prevents it from coming off completely. Cesc doesn’t protest as Terry slips his hand lower, fingers hovering over his trousers for a moment before he pops the button, pulling his fly down. Cesc sucks in a soft breath, going very still as if he’s afraid that John will stop if he makes a move. 

John doesn’t stop though, instead he pushes his trousers out of the way just enough so that he can curl his fingers around Cesc’s erection through the fabric of his underwear. He strokes the younger man loosely, not quite enough friction to be more than a teasing sensation. He keeps his eyes on Cesc’s face, watching his eyes darken and hearing his breath hitch slightly.

John smiles slowly and there’s an edge to it that makes Cesc’s cock kick and harden even more. Terry grins, lifting himself up a little bit, enough to be able to grab a hold of the Spaniard’s trousers and underwear. He tugs at them and Cesc lifts his hips willingly, teeth catching at his bottom lip as he does so. John tugs his underwear down to mid-thigh, leaving them there. 

Cesc hisses lowly as his erection is freed, unable to stop it and he can’t help letting a grin that is bordering on smug spread over his face as he sees Terry’s reaction to seeing him exposed. The grin fades quickly when John closes one of his big hands around his erection though, stroking him slowly, the dry friction and almost too-tight grip sending jolts of painpleasure up his spine. John is watching him intently, as if he wants to sear the image of Cesc like this into his mind and that is probably not very far from the truth. Cesc groans softly, his eyes fluttering close for a moment as he focuses on the feeling of Terry thumbing the tip of his cock, smearing precum along his shaft and the heat pooling in his groin. 

He knows it’s not going to be that easy though and when John suddenly stops and pulls away he’s not exactly surprised but he still can’t stop the disappointed mewl. His eyes snap open, gaze dark and hazy as he looks up at the Englishman. Terry looks down at him, serious now, as he trails one hand up the Spaniard’s chest. He uses his nails, stopping at a nipple to roll it between his fingers, pinching and twisting and not letting up until Cesc’s arches off the floor with a whimper that’s a bit more pain than pleasure. They both notice the way his cock kicks though, the way it leaks precum between them. John grins darkly and Cesc can’t suppress the shiver that runs through him. 

“If you like that…” John says, but he doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead he simply shifts again, one hand coming up to rest against Cesc’s throat. The other one travels over his chest again, his nails digging into skin, scratching hard enough to leave trails of red behind. Cesc moans, more pleasure than pain this time, as he attempts to push up to get some friction against his neglected cock. John doesn’t have much trouble keeping out of the way though. Cesc swears, frustrated, dropping back against the floor with thud and he winces at the pain in his shoulders and arms. 

“Let’s try this again,” John murmurs, pushing two of his fingers against Cesc’s lips and the Spaniard takes him in instantly. John’s other hand tightens around Cesc’s throat, as a warning, but Cesc isn’t interested in pushing right now. Instead he works his tongue and lips around John’s fingers, making a show out of it because he knows he looks great; hard and straining, his hair plastered to his forehead, sucking on Terry’s fingers as if they were his dick. 

“Fuck,” John breathes, “You really like this, don’t you? Fuck you’d look good with your lips around my cock…”

Cesc hums intelligibly around his mouthful but he doesn’t sound as if he’s disagreeing and John groans quietly, feeling himself harden even more. He’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he’d been thinking about that mouth on more than one occasion since the last time. John lets Cesc carry on a while longer before he pulls his fingers out, smiling a little edgily as he reaches down. Cesc whines softly when Terry bypasses his leaking erection but when he reaches further, past his balls and against his hole, the Spaniard’s breath hitches and his legs fall open as far as they will go with his trousers still around his thighs.

“You want it?” John asks, voice gruff as he lets a finger circle the tight ring of muscle.

Cesc keens, shifting to push down.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Fuck yes.”

John raises an eyebrow, expectantly, not moving.

“I-I want,” Cesc stutters, even though he knows it’s not going to be that easy. 

John tuts, pressing the tips of one finger into Cesc’s tight hole, teasingly light, his other hand sliding from the midfielder’s throat and down his chest, pinching a nipple.

“You want…?”

“Fuck,” Cesc hisses, body jerking. “Yes, fuck, yes, I want, c’mon John, please. Just fucking-”

The rest of the sentence dies out in a low whine when John shoves a finger into him, crooking it roughly. Cesc groans, his hips lifting on their own accord and he can’t stop himself from grinding down, barely even paying attention to the older man’s triumphant grin at that reaction. The feeling of John’s finger inside him is good but not nearly enough and he shifts impatiently.

“More,” he gasps, pushing back roughly. “I won’t fucking break, I can take it. Please.”

John merely chuckles at that, and Cesc is actually surprised when he feels another finger being pushed against him, into him. He lets out a low groan and it feels good, the way that John scissors his fingers, crooking them to find his prostate. Cesc feels a third finger being added, John keeping his eyes on the Spaniard and he can tell the moment he finds the spot, the Spaniard’s eyes flying open and his whole body jolting with pleasure. 

Cesc curses viciously, earning him another chuckle from John, but he barely even notices. He vaguely remembers having decided to play hard to get, to not give John what he wanted, but he’s finding it increasingly difficult to think anything coherent at all with how good John’s fingers feel inside him. Cesc lets out an almost desperate mewl when John continues to rub mercilessly against the bundle of nerves inside him.

It’s not just thinking that’s a problem now, Cesc is struggling to draw a breath and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that he’s talking but he’s not even sure himself of what he’s saying. A confused and incoherent mix between English and Spanish spilling from his lips and he’s close, so close, but his cock is still lying hot and heavy against his hip, leaking, neglected. 

“Fuck,” he gasps, fighting for breath as if he was drowning now, desperately trying to focus his gaze on John. “Close, so…fuck…so close…you have to, fuck, just…touch me, need to…please, John, please, fuck…John, por favor-please...”

John smiles, slowly, leaning closer over the Spaniard and his hand doesn’t stop moving inside him, stretching, pushing.

“You need it, Fabregas? I don’t think you do. You look like you could shoot like this, without me even putting my hand on you.”

Cesc whimpers, shaking his head almost desperately, his hips pushing down against John’s fingers as he tries to choke out another plea for the Englishman to just touch him. When he finally feels John’s strong hand close around his erection it’s almost too much, his brain shutting down completely and all that exist right then is the pressure inside him, the heat pooling in his groin. He can feel the orgasm starting to build inside him and he’s close, so close, but right before that final push that’s close to sending him over the edge everything stops. 

John pulls his fingers out, leaving Cesc’s empty, the hand around his cock clamping down at the base in a too tight grip which prevents him from climaxing. The Spaniard cries out, desperate, his back arching off the floor and he’s barely even aware of how his shoulders strain and ache underneath him.

“No,” he gasps, helplessly. “Nononono…por favor, no, _John_!”

John just watches him, his face neutral even as the Spaniard thrashes underneath him, keeping the too tight grip of the midfielder’s engorged cock, watching almost fascinated as Cesc breaks in front of him. He doesn’t move until he’s sure Cesc won’t come before releasing him, letting go of him completely before standing up. He’s not in a hurry, patiently waiting for Cesc to calm himself down and to look up at him.

It takes a while but eventually Cesc stills, his breathing still erratic and his cock as desperately hard, but he does manage to lift his gaze. He blinks up at John, the way the older man is looming over him is both menacing and fucking thrilling.

“Please,” he gasps, frantically, and he doesn’t have to put on a show this time – the desperation is real. “Please, John, fuck…don’t…don’t leave me like this, you can’t-“

John just smirks, nudging Cesc’s side with his foot. 

“On your knees, Fabregas.”

Cesc doesn’t move at first, blinking stupidly up at John as he tries to process the words. John sighs, lifting his foot again but this time he puts the sole of his foot against Cesc’s erection. He pushes down, hard, knows that the rough underside of his shoe must be torture against the Spaniard’s straining erection. He doesn’t let up until he sees Cesc’s eyes roll back in his head, a broken sound somewhere in between a sob and a whimper falling from his lips.

“On. Your. Knees.”

He takes half a step back, watching expectantly as Cesc tries to do what he’s told. It’s not easy, with the Spaniard’s arms still pulled tight behind his back and his trousers halfway down his thighs but Terry doesn’t offer him a hand. Instead he watches, expression bored as Cesc struggles, close to crying out in frustration as he tries to get his limbs to cooperate. He manages, finally, panting harshly with his head bowed as he settles down on his knees, trembling with the effort.

Terry steps close to him again, making swift work with his own trousers as he pushes them down enough to free his cock. He’s hard himself, has been for some time, and it feels ridiculously good to finally let his erection spring free, but he keeps the expression on his face neutral. Instead he curls one hand around the base of his own cock, the other one fisting in the Spaniard’s hair to tilt his head back. He looks down at Cesc, drinking in the sight in front of him, of the Spaniard on his knees like this. His body stretched, tensed and straining, his cock hard and bobbing in front of him, eyes almost black with want, arousal and desperation. He smiles, slowly, running the tip of his cock against Cesc’s lips, smearing precum against him, and the sheer dirtiness of it makes him harden further.

Cesc exhales shakily and he wants this, there is no denying it now. He can almost feel his mouth water as he strains against John’s hold in his hair. He rocks forward with a low, pleading whine, pressing his lips against the side of John’s erection. He’s not sure if he’s allowed but when the Englishman doesn’t stop him he grows bolder and he presses his face against Terry’s groin, breathing in the musky scent. He feels his own cock kick against nothing and fuck, this is going to be good. Cesc has always loved giving head and he can so easily get into it now, his mindset miles away compared to earlier the same evening. He finds that his priorities have rapidly rearranged themselves in his head and suddenly he’s got _Please John_ at the top of his list and he decides now is not the time to evaluate what that actually means.

He sticks his tongue out, running it eagerly from base to tip, leaning in to take the head between his lips before he feels himself being pulled back again by the grip in his hair. He whines, disappointedly, licking his lips eagerly as he looks up at John and the way his Captain looks down at him makes him shiver in anticipation.

“You want to suck my cock?” John asks, voice a low growl that goes straight to Cesc’s dick and the Spaniard tries to nod eagerly.

“Yes,” he breathes.

“Say it,” John commands.

“I want it,” Cesc half-whines.

John’s lips twitch slightly but he doesn’t say anything, just raises an eyebrow expectantly.

“I want it,” Cesc breathes again and the tremor in his voice is real this time. “Fuck, I want to suck you off. Want to taste you. Fuck, John, please, I need…I want…please let me…will make you feel so good, so fucking good, please…”

“Okay then,” John says, almost softly, as he guides Cesc forward and he Spaniard parts his lips eagerly.

He sucks the older man’s dick in between his lips, bobbing his head experimentally over him, a little awkwardly at first as he tries to get used to the size of him because John is big and Cesc can’t help but think how it would feel like to have that cock buried inside him. He groans at the thought, rocking forward, working his tongue down along the length. John gazes down at him, at his cock disappearing between Cesc’s lips and he can’t stop a deep moan at the sight. The Spaniard’s mouth is as soft, hot, wet as he remembers, and Terry’s hips pushes forward a little. He watches Cesc with dark eyes, the way his body is straining in the awkward position he’s in but how he works his mouth eagerly over John’s cock even without the use of his hands. It’s not the prettiest blowjob, sloppy and wet, and the noises Cesc is making are as obscene as any porno JT has ever seen. 

He lets Cesc keep going for a few minutes before he takes over, tightening the grip in his hair again as John takes control. He holds his head still as he pushes his hips forward, forcing his cock further into the Spaniard’s mouth and he half expects him to try and pull back but instead Cesc just gives in. John can see it happen, the midfielder’s eyelids fluttering and there’s a low, keening noise escaping him as he relaxes his jaw completely, letting Terry set the pace and force of his thrusts as he simply opens up, allowing John to fuck his mouth.

“Fucking hell,” John gasps, eyes growing even darker as he pulls back out before pushing back in. “Yeah, that’s it, just take it. There’s a good boy.”

He’s hardly even aware of what he’s saying, mumbling randomly under his breath as he pushes further and further with each thrust. Cesc tries to focus on breathing through his nose, feels John’s cock nudge the back of his throat and he swallows, the whispered words spilling from John’s lips going straight to his own dripping erection. Even the dull ache in his shoulders has grown into arousal, slowly pulsing with the beat of his heart, with the throb in his cock. 

John could come like this. He’s got his eyes closed now, mumbling silently to himself about how good it feels, how close he is, how the thought of shooting his load down Cesc’s throat is almost enough to send him over. When the Spaniard swallows around him again he manages to hold on but he knows he’s almost too close. He shoves the Spaniard off his cock, watching him tumble to the side, unable to stop himself from falling without the use of his arms. John would laugh at the sight if he wasn’t so turned on he was worried he’d explode. 

Cesc whines uselessly, panting desperately with hair plastered to his forehead and his lips red and puffy. He looks so thoroughly used that John has to look away so that he won’t come from the sight alone. He forces himself to calm down, he can’t lose control now, so close to getting what he wants and he knows he needs to follow through on this if he ever wants to put their last encounter behind himself properly. 

“Turn around,” he growls, instead. “Face down.”

He stays where he is only long enough to make sure that Cesc obeys and the Spaniard can’t comply fast enough. He rolls over onto his stomach, pushing his knees up enough so he can lift his ass into the air, his face awkwardly against the floor as the tie still prevents him from getting on his hands and knees. He can hear John move somewhere behind him, the sound of a condom being ripped open and Cesc can’t stop himself.

“Please,” he whines, helplessly. “Please fuck me, John. I need you inside me. Need to feel you, please, fuck…please!”

John growls, Cesc’s desperate begging going straight to his cock and even the simple motion of rolling the condom on is almost too much. He knows this will be over fast, but he’s rapidly approaching the point of not caring about that. He sinks down on his knees behind the Spaniard, hands kneading his buttocks roughly and he can feel Cesc tremble underneath him. He smiles as he pulls Cesc’s cheeks apart, watching his hole clench and unclench almost desperately and he can’t help but chuckle quietly.

“So eager,” he murmurs, mockingly. “So fucking desperate. Fucking hell, Fabregas. Didn’t know you were such a fucking slut for it.”

Cesc whines incoherently, rocking back against Terry, barely even registering the words but the mocking tone makes his stomach flip. He knows he’s way too desperate already but having been kept on the edge for so long he barely even cares. He knows he’s blushing, can feel himself tremble against the Englishman but it’s like he can’t even control his body anymore and the way it tries to move back against the heat of the man behind him. He can feel John shift, running the tip of his cock along his cleft, over his hole but without pushing inside, just teasing.

“Say it,” John growls, pulling back a little before letting the palm of his hand fall down against one of Cesc’s buttocks, leaving a red mark behind. He sound of the slap is sharp in room, loud, and John watches Cesc jolt with the impact, a desperate keening noise fighting its way up the Spaniard’s throat. 

“Sí, por favor. I-I am…wh-what you said, John, fuck, I’m a slut, desperate, please, just…fuck…need you to," Cesc almost cries, his body shaking as he pushes back harder, as if he's trying to force John inside him before adding "Fuck me, Captain.”

And it’s that last word that finally does it for John. He growls deeply, not wasting another second as he positions himself just right, pushing into Cesc in one go, all the way in. He jerks his hips roughly, and he can feel Cesc tense up underneath him.

Cesc gasps, the sudden intrusion almost making him see stars despite the fact that he’s been stretched earlier. The way John’s left his trousers almost halfway on makes him unable to spread his legs as much as he’d want to and it hurts, sure, but it’s the stretch and burn that Cesc fucking lives for and he’s pushing back against the Englishman even before his brain has fully registered what has happened. John sets up an almost furious pace, hips jerking hard as he pushes into the Spaniard over and over again. He angles his hips slightly differently and he can tell when he finds the spot deep inside Cesc because the midfielder almost shouts with it.

Cesc moans frantically, feeling John hitting him deep and he’s no longer aware of what he’s saying, just gasping out pleas in both English and Spanish for John to move faster, harder, hit him deeper and make him come. John’s got both his hands on either side of Cesc’s hips, using the hold to pull the Spaniard back hard against him. He pounds into him, feeling the orgasm build inside him. 

“Don’t come,” John grits out, reaching around to curls his fingers around Cesc’s cock. “Don’t you fucking dare to come before me.”

Cesc wails desperately, tears leaking down his cheeks and the only thought he can focus on is not to disappoint John. He has to use all the self-control he can muster not to let go because he’s so close now. He's lost track of time a long time ago, all that exists is John moving inside him. When Terry finally leans forward, his breath ghosting against Cesc’s sweatslick neck he almost loses it.

“Come then, Cesc. Come for me,” John purrs and he can feel Cesc tense up around him. He grips the Spaniard’s cock harshly, squeezing, caressing him roughly but it only takes a couple of strokes before Cesc comes with a choked back scream. John isn’t far behind, the way Cesc’s body convulses and tenses around him is enough to send him over the edge and he slams himself in as deep as he can before he lets go.

John collapses on top of Cesc, draping himself over the smaller man’s back as he catches his breath. He allows himself a moment before he pulls out, pulling the condom off him and he tosses it into the bin before turning back to Cesc on the floor. The Spaniard is still breathing heavily and when John sinks down on his knees next to him on the floor he looks almost dazed as John moves to untie his wrists. Cesc lets his arms drop to the floor and the pain when blood rushes back into them makes him groan and he rolls over onto his back. He rubs his wrists, not even caring about the mess on the floor or on himself, his ruined trousers.

“Fucking hell,” he grunts, rubbing a hand over his eyes, not quite able to meet Terry’s gaze. 

The Englishman smirks a little at that, standing up again. He pushes his own trousers down all the way, losing his shirt, shoes and socks as well before he stretches, apparently not caring about being naked. He walks into the bathroom and Cesc can hear water running before John comes back. He walks over to Cesc, nudging him gently with his foot before dropping a wet towel onto the younger man’s chest.

“Clean yourself up,” he says, his voice is surprisingly soft as and as Cesc blinks up at him he smiles a little crookedly. “Or did I wear you out?”

“Did you fuck,” Cesc mutters, running the towel over himself quickly before kicking his own trousers and underwear off, clearly as unaffected as Terry himself about being naked. He sits up, biting back against a groan as his entire body protests against his movements.

John watches him intently and it’s almost as if he can tell how Cesc's body is feeling, eyes dancing with amusement as he looks him over. He holds out a hand, offering to pull Cesc up as if they were on the pitch and John had just sent him clattering to the ground with a slightly too rough tackle.

Cesc watches him for a moment, gaze narrowed, before he flashes him a grin. He takes John’s hand, allows his captain to pull him up into standing and this time he can’t stop the low hiss as he stretches, his whole body aching. John looks at him, still that amused expression in his eyes.

“We're even?” He asks, innocently, one eyebrow raised.

Cesc pauses for a moment, watching him, before his lips quirk a little in a half-smirk.

“We're even,” he confirms with a small shrug.

“Good,” John says, a proper grin on his face this time. “Then hit the shower, clean yourself up and when you’re done I’ll tell you everything you need to know about playing for Chelsea.”

Cesc studies him thoughtfully, looking faintly amused for a second before his grin widens. 

“Whatever you say, Captain.”


End file.
